


Dreamscape

by AirgiodSLV



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-10-31
Updated: 2005-10-31
Packaged: 2019-07-10 12:12:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,658
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15949094
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AirgiodSLV/pseuds/AirgiodSLV
Summary: Draco is a very lucid dreamer.





	Dreamscape

**Author's Note:**

> My first real foray into the world of Potter-verse. Thanks to [](https://sparcck.livejournal.com/profile)[sparcck](https://sparcck.livejournal.com/) for the beta, which was so amazing that I should really give her writing credit.

Draco is a very lucid dreamer.

He’d taught himself how in fifth year, when things had started to fall apart around him, with the return of the Dark Lord and the rumblings of the Death Eaters. There were too many aspects of his life over which he had no control, and he was determined that his dreams, at least, be under his command.

That’s why he’s surprised when Harry Potter shows up in his dream one night, blinking and looking around, and doesn’t immediately vanish when Draco wishes him away.

Potter takes in the barren landscape with interest. It’s a common location for Draco’s dreams, an unsullied white snowscape, complete with distant mountains and shades-of-grey sky. Draco had visited Siberia with his parents when he was ten, just before he left for Hogwarts. He’d thought then that it was the loneliest place in the world. Now he finds it peaceful. And two years on the run have taught him to value peace.

It must be a potion, or spell of some kind. There’s no other reason for Potter to be in his dream, and not obeying as Draco’s thoughts dictate. He conjures _The Booke of Spelles for the Wearye_ with a thought, but he’s learned over the years that his dream self can only know what his waking self is already aware of, and he’s certain without looking that he doesn’t know this spell.

The pages flip obediently at his touch, and fall open on _Dreamwalking Spelles_ , but the page beneath the chapter heading is blank, the parchment vacant of anything hidden in the recesses of Draco’s mind. He snaps the tome shut in irritation and it vanishes, while his unwanted dream-companion remains stubbornly corporeal.

Potter looks older, but no different. He looks grown-up, like he’s finally bridged the gap between boy and man that all of them spent their years at Hogwarts fighting their way towards, through the seemingly endless span of adolescence and young adulthood. More muscular, more angled. He’s lost the boyish curves in his face and has even gained a few creases that promise one day to become wrinkles.

He looks like he’s been through a war.

“Where are we?” Potter asks, frowning a little as he focuses at last on Draco.

“Siberia,” Draco answers shortly. No further explanation, it’s not as if he owes Potter one to begin with. “What do you want, Potter?”

“No one can find you,” Potter says, surprise evident in his voice, as if he’d expected a warm welcome and a mug of cocoa. “No one knows where you are. Most people think you’re dead.”

“Maybe I am,” Draco replies loftily.

“No, you’re not, or I wouldn’t be here,” Potter argues logically. “This is your dream, I know you’re alive.”

Draco takes a second to curse logic, and dream-walking potions as well, while he’s at it. “You never answered my question, Potter.”

“I was worried,” Potter claims, peering at him as if unsure that this is really Draco, and that he’s not in some sort of life-threatening situation. Always the hero. “I wondered what happened to you, after sixth-year. You just…disappeared, and no one knew where you had gone.”

Draco actually stops at that, narrowing his eyes. For a moment he doubts himself, and his own control over his unconscious desires, because hearing that is just too…perfect. Too much like something he’s been hoping and waiting to hear. The great Harry Potter is looking for him. Someone actually noticed he was missing, besides no longer counting him among the enemy.

But even if he had wished Potter here, it wouldn’t be like this. Potter in Draco’s dreams is for bruising and sneering at, not for insincere reconciliation attempts.

“In case you’ve forgotten, I was on the top of a number of people’s ‘most wanted’ lists,” Draco reminds him tersely. He fixes Potter with a glare, for emphasis. “Including yours.”

“Yes, well,” Potter says vaguely. He looks around again, then back at Draco. “It’s cold here. You should dress warmer.”

For some reason, the false show of concern causes Draco’s irritation to flare. How like Potter, to show up in someone else’s mind and try to control the situation. How infuriatingly predictable.

“It’s my dream, I can wear what I want,” Draco snaps. “Stop avoiding the issue.”

He can see Potter’s feathers ruffle at that, but the breath drawn for what looks to be the beginning of a very satisfying fight is suddenly released all at once. Potter’s curiosity appears to win out over his temper, and he’s not put off at all, damn him.

“Can you really control this?” Potter asks with interest. “Not just experience it, I mean, but direct it?”

Draco answers that question by raising his hand and conjuring his wand into it, pointed straight at Potter’s heart. “Yes,” he replies coolly. “I can.”

Potter’s hand lifts reflexively, but nothing happens. He looks startled at first, then bewildered, then annoyed. “Why can’t I do that?” he asks sulkily, and Draco feels a brief surge of satisfaction at coming out on top which is only fueled by Potter’s scowl of disappointment.

“Because you’re in my dream,” Draco tells him flatly. “Now, once more. Was there something you wanted?”

Potter has the gall to look wounded. “I told you, I was worried about you. We wanted to make sure you were alive.”

_We_. Things are starting to become clearer now. “Who is ‘we’, Potter?” Draco asks slowly, wand unwavering although he privately doubts what power he has over Potter here. “Who’s looking for me?”

“No one in particular,” Potter answers evasively, eyes shifting to avoid Draco’s. He’s a terrible liar, Draco thinks. Always has been. “You’re alive, though,” Potter continues. “That’s the important thing.”

Draco considers that. “Is it?” he asks. A thought, and the wand in his hand turns into a long, slim dagger, reversed in his hand so that he can push it into his chest. Potter’s eyes go wide as blood blossoms around Draco’s hand, soaking his shirt and running vivid red over his wrist.

“I can change that,” Draco says conversationally, panting a little, eyes tightening to slits. “Did you know that if you die in a dream, you die in the real world, as well?”

“Don’t,” Potter says in alarm, hand raised as if to withdraw the blade. Draco threatens to twist when Potter starts to step forward, just to see the reaction it gets, and Potter freezes, muscles tensed impotently.

“How about it, Potter?” Draco asks, gasping. Their gazes are locked, once more forcing a confrontation, neither of them backing down. “What am I worth to you alive?”

For a second he thinks he sees something in Potter’s expression, a flash of something genuine. Then it’s gone, just as quickly, snuffed out by the mask of insufferable superiority that Draco is all too familiar with.

“You’re not dying,” Potter argues, although the uncertainty is there in his eyes, Draco can see him battling it. “You only want to. It’s not the same.”

“Quite true.” Draco straightens with a sigh, all traces of blood vanished. “Well, it was worth a try.” He reaches up to run a hand through his hair, and notes with some annoyance that Potter has succeeded in getting a hat on him. Probably unconscious suggestion. Well, at least it feels like a fashionable one.

“We want you to come back,” Potter blurts out suddenly, and rushes to clarify before Draco can cut him with another retort. “The Order. The Ministry as well. The war isn’t over, you know. We could use you.”

Draco doesn’t doubt it. He wonders how Potter can stand being used, how he can say it so easily. It seems like something they’d both had in common, a hatred of being made into someone else’s pawn.

His disbelief at the mere suggestion, however, far outweighs his scorn. “I can’t come back,” he scoffs, shaking his head. “Do you have any idea how many people are looking for me? Not just the Ministry, Potter, not your precious Order. They’re the least of my concerns.”

“We could protect you,” Potter insists, fervent belief shining from the eyes of a born idealist. “We have ways, we could find a secret keeper…”

“Because that’s worked so well for you in the past, right?” Draco drawls, and has the satisfaction of seeing Potter flinch slightly. “Thank you, but no. I’ll take my chances on my own.”

Potter straightens, and he’s less the boy Draco had known now, and even more the man. “I _will_ find you,” he promises, and Draco shrugs.

“You’re welcome to try.”

He wakes up, and wonders as he does what it will do to Potter, whether he will find himself trapped in a black void or merely forcefully ejected back into his own mind. It’s none of his concern, really…he just wonders.

He’ll leave in the morning. He doubts that Potter has the ability to cast any sort of locating spell on him through a dream, but he won’t take the chance. Because if he can, someone else could as well. And Draco has become an expert at picking up and moving on, over the past two years. Keep moving, that’s the key. Never stop.

He makes himself a cup of tea, noting that the clock only reads 3:27 AM. He knows that when he eventually goes back to sleep, Potter will be waiting for him. But it will be an interesting challenge, this confrontation; something to liven up the boredom of his refugee flight.

And almost inevitable, in a way. It’s always been the two of them, forever circling and clashing. Draco’s life has been rather empty without a worthy adversary. Now Potter is after him again, and Draco is more than ready to lead him a merry chase.

He’s packed his bag before dawn, and is on the road by the time the first rays of light filter over the ground.


End file.
